


Too Much Interest

by artistocrazy



Series: Foolish Pawns - A Historical Aushun Fanfic [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Allusions to lots of hate sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Corsetry, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hate Sex, Lemon?, Light BDSM, Lime, M/M, Mentions of Guillotine, Molestation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artistocrazy/pseuds/artistocrazy
Summary: Francis pulls a sneak attack to get his husband back. Erzsébet pans this content.A more mature chapter of Foolish Pawns, which I will link with the story on here.
Relationships: Austria/France (Hetalia), Austria/Hungary (Hetalia)
Series: Foolish Pawns - A Historical Aushun Fanfic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114220





	Too Much Interest

**Author's Note:**

> The safe word is Robespierre.
> 
> Warning: Dubious Content.
> 
> This is my first real crack at anything directly BDSM. It’s not meant to be very good. Please bare with me.

_Spring, 1800_

  
“Knock, knock.”

There was hardly any time for Roderich to react before Francis whipped him around and held him close, one arm around his waist while the other weaved around his neck. The Austrian stood stiffly, having no choice but to stare at the ceiling with how his neck craned to compensate for the restraint. 

Despite the helplessness a hold like that might impose, and despite the way Francis buried his nose in his hair, Roderich’s main reaction and emotion was irritation.

“Really?” he whispered harshly, “You couldn’t wait for me to come back?”

“You didn’t tell me you were going. I couldn’t help but chase you, mon amor,” Francis purred into Roderich’s ear before applying slow kisses along his neck and eliciting small hitched noises from his husband.

“Don’t try to be cute now. It won’t help you,” Roderich lowly threatened him, though he was hardly in any place to threaten anybody. The way Francis was behind him had his shoulders rolled back into a pin. His heart couldn’t help but start pounding with his back so unfortunately arched. He hated that Francis could do that to him. 

Okay, maybe that wasn’t _entirely_ true. He mainly hated that Francis could do that to him unannounced and still illicit that kind of response. Though it was part of the plan to keep him as busy as possible, and it seemed his annoyance helped keep the blond invested.

“Are you going to punish me with your hands behind your back?” Francis chuckled, starting to graze his teeth and earn him a muffled groan. The blond could feel his husband’s skin begin to heat up under him, especially as his shoulders pressed him more forward. The fabric on that frilly, white shirt was beginning to bunch up from behind, placing a strain on the buttons in front.

The Austrian’s breathing started to speed up, but it didn’t stop him from huffing out a retort. “I wouldn’t want the servants to see, for your sake.” Was it a bluff? Assuredly. He had no idea how to free himself beyond words. But Roderich at least knew Francis liked it when he spoke that way to him. Hardly, without much thought to it, Roderich tried using it to his advantage. “For heaven’s sakes, loosen the buttons. I won’t waste time restitching them or answering stupid questions.”

“Don’t lose your head, mon cher,” he teased, taking some of his own twisted pleasure in being annoyed and working around the jabot, but not before giving Roderich’s cheeks a squeeze close to his jaw. He knew the Austrian hated that, though of course that was the point. Heightened hatred made the outcome more interesting, especially if that mole was involved. 

But it was a sick jab, on Francis’s part, to make any comment about heads being lost. He did abandon Roderich on the first trip to the guillotine. That led to a very rough conversation the evening when he came back: a conversation Francis considered rehashing for a while until he himself faced the same fate. The Reign of Terror had lost some of its edge.

At this point, Roderich was undoubtedly angry, but attempting to channel it to his advantage here as best he could. It was an insult, to be reunited outside of Roderich’s own terms, if not a major threat to his plans. This situation was very dangerous, least of all for anyone who might walk in on them, and despite himself and his sensibilities a small part of him had actually grown to like it.

“That’s going to cost you,” the Austrian warned, but not before letting out a moan at feeling Francis’ hand smooth down his torso and slip behind the fabric, taking a light grip and positioning his thumb strategically over a nipple. “Oh, you vile thing...”

Those weren’t their safe words. Francis was sure not to stop, lest he get a whiny earful afterward. Really, he had just assumed the rules in Versailles would be the same in Vienna. And it didn’t hurt to try to make this little invasion something enjoyable.

“You can take your revenge later,” Francis whined in his ear, and Roderich shuddered, resigning himself to the thought of how he’d avenge this slight and focusing on the sensations to get him through it. He’d have to break in the new crops at some time or another. Maybe he’d find a new way to pull at all of that long hair - he’d found it a strangely calming thing to get tangled up in during those heated moments. Maybe the Frenchman washed it with champagne, if it had that sort of tantalizing effect. It seemed too late to discuss the boundaries surrounding surprise visits without risking anything. With luck, it would be quick.

Roderich was shortly beyond speech, and those little whimpers leaving him were a special kind of treat for Francis as the blond kept fondling his chest. Francis was especially excited by the prospect of the Austrian finding a way to make him moan the same way later on. It hardly made sense to not pick up where they’d left off.

However, after a pleasant while of caressing and squeezing at his husband’s skin and remembering what shapes he could make with all of those little freckles and moles, he heard a dull thud and felt a sudden eruption of pain from the nape of his neck as everything went black.

* * *

Feeling the Frenchman slide off of him and questioning the force that caused him to move forward and attempt to regain his balance, Roderich finally felt some fear at the one unknown in this equation, especially as he had felt so lightheaded. It wasn’t until he checked behind him to see his husband on the floor and his servant moving him to the couch that he had his answer.

Any arousal that was there before was overwhelmed by his embarrassment and dizziness, and he began to teeter as he tried walking towards another chair. Underestimating how much work Francis had done on him in even those moments, the Austrian felt himself leaning forward too far, with the ground appearing more inviting than before.

Thankfully, for his sake, Erzsébet saw him teetering and raced to his side before he collapsed. She cried out his name - his only excuse to maintain any form of consciousness, and he soon felt her hold him up from the front and maneuver him into the cushioned seat.

Once the young master was seated, she’d quickly fetched him some water to quell that feverish feeling all around him. Erzsébet could tell just from supporting him he might risk fainting from being so overheated. It took him a moment slumped in the seat to try catching his breath, and while she was away he had tried to loosen the clasps and chords keeping his corset fastened in place. Anything that could get him more air. 

Upon seeing him attempt to untuck his shirt to release the clasps, Erzsébet put down the water and quickly swooped in to assist him with those surprisingly delicate fingers. Those wheaty curls cascaded into his lap, and he felt a quiet panic at how sensitive his body felt in this moment, especially beneath his trousers. Bracing himself, Roderich craned his neck up to look away, understanding his eyes might lead him to look in the most disrespectful places. He just hoped she wouldn’t notice anything unusual with her gaze cast down that way. Who the hell was he kidding? How was any of this supposed to be usual? The Austrian tried to think on the callouses on her hands to calm himself down. It had the opposite effect, and he berated himself for the misstep.

Finally, she’d freed him of a few pesky clasps and his relieved sigh was louder than he hoped it would be. Thankfully, Erzsébet’s own relief at ensuring his safety provided a nice blend to dictate the moment to something more palatable. He fastened the corset too tight that morning, and Francis stopped by too soon after he’d eaten. That was a story he could work with, and made him feel less guilty as the servant retrieved the glass from before.

The way her brow and eyes had yet to relax had Roderich feeling a strange pang in his gut. Had he upset her? Frightened her? He had done it before, although she had to have seen worse. Maybe it had just been too long? _The poor dear,_ he thought, _how horrible to have to witness such a thing in your own home_. 

“Are you alright?” she asked.

For a while, the Austrian’s mind only focused on this dizzy feeling and he cradled his head in his hand as he took the glass and drank with a greed to have droplets stray from his mouth, which Erzsébet’s eyes trailed before snapping herself out of it. He was breathing, after all, and he wasn’t bleeding - no point in looking at his neck for... wait, were those little veins?

Ridiculous - she had to stop that nonsense.

Gradually, he felt himself come back down to earth and regain his bearings and he was none the wiser to her wandering eyes.

“Yes... yes, I think so,” he panted, taking a moment to adjust his glasses. “Thank you for having rescued me.”

“Of course,” she breathed out, scanning him quickly just to see if Francis had caused any more damage. She could reasonably handle that.

This was a mistake and a poor excuse, and she knew it. Her eyes were quickly drawn to the new wrinkles in his shirt, and soon after the rise and fall of his exposed torso, which had taken on even more dampness from someone’s poor table manners. For some odd reason she had expected there to be more hair there by now, though perhaps it was worse that there wasn’t much of any. It seemed like hardly a wonder he kept sideburns - they were likely the thickest patch of hair he had. Unless- No! No, she did not at all need a thought like that roaming around. It was better for her to focus back on the wound search.

Giving him a generous look, Erzsébet was further convinced this was a mistake, but she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away. Seeing the way the light reflected the blush and sweat across his chest, providing any shadows or indents that might otherwise have gone unnoticed due to the cushion of a comfortable life, made her face flush and her jaw part slightly. She’d remembered her hands resting on it once before he went off to war, protected by his uniform. If she remembered it right, it wasn’t as soft as she thought, but she maybe remembered feeling something underneath there. Had he looked like that underneath the uniform then, too? Would it feel the same under her palms now? She didn’t like having these thoughts, and she certainly didn’t like the sweat on her palms.

All Roderich could see from her was that she had frozen in place, staring at him in what had to have been some kind of shock. Her whole body seemed stiffened with it, as she was in the middle of tucking a stray curl behind her ear. He thought from her alarm initially that he might have been injured, until the Austrian recalled the previous situation. And then the embarrassment flooded his system. 

Reflexively, Roderich tried to cover himself up and cross his legs, completely self conscious about this level of unintentional exposure. “This, um,” he stammered, pulling his shirt up and forgetting he could just as easily button it back up, rather than keep letting the fabric fall and continue feeling her appalled stare, “This truly is not something a woman your age should be seeing.”

In Roderich’s mind, he didn’t want to know what sort of judgements she had made about him in this moment. Had she heard him? How much had she seen? Was she wise to what he had been doing for this marriage to begin with?

Erzsébet, on the other hand, was not observing her employer in disgust. She was blushing out of her own sense of shame. She was embarrassed to have seen the way Francis groped her employer and how she felt frozen to watch. How she felt a need to remember what those pitches were coming out of Roderich in the struggle. How she was so angry at the violation, and yet she was still so curious and indulgent in letting it continue, just to have the memory of those sounds. Sounds she might never bring out of him. 

Oh, God, she was jealous of the Frenchman. 

Erzsébet felt like a wretched thing, and those feelings heightened along with recognizing her urge to commit this messier version of Roderich to memory. It was one thing to observe him roughed up in his uniform from battle, but quite another to see him roughed up in his fancier clothes. Despite herself, she had to drink in the memory of it - a memory she might not ever get and one she felt loathsome to even want.

“Oh, I suppose you’re right,” the Hungarian said suddenly, rigid and looking over him awkwardly. She felt the unspoken impulse to adjust his clothing and help him redress, but she pulled her hands back and wiped them down quickly before catching them in a tight clasp and walking backwards. “I’ll be on my way and be leaving you alone now. Let me know if you need anything.”

This dismissal did nothing to ease his discomfort, with the first thought in his head being a question of how to approach this subject at a later time. At least, it would be, until he peered out his window to see more than one Frenchman walking toward the house.


End file.
